


Unexpected

by SolarMorrigan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Overuse Of Parentheses, ridiculous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Q's job is to prepare for all foreseeable circumstances, but he can't say he saw this coming





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This was not brit-picked. I just kinda... put in what I've picked up over the years, so it's probably a horrible Frankenstein mess of Americanisms and Britishisms and if anything sticks out as particularly wrong, please feel free to correct me
> 
> Written as a fill for [this](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/798369.html?thread=102482849#t102482849) comment_fic prompt

This was something Q had never expected. Bond was full of surprises, surely, but this- this Q hadn’t seen coming.

Quick and dirty fucks born of adrenaline and lust somehow gave way to slower and deeper sex that spoke of something heady and new that had given way to kisses full of affection that had led to honest-to-god dates that had led to lazy mornings and shared space and then it had been a year and if Q hadn’t expected it, he could at least say that Bond probably hadn’t, either.

There were still times of hot and heavy, can’t wait can’t wait can’t wait (Bond just back from a mission, Q narrowly avoiding an explosive lab accident, haven’t seen each other in days or weeks and need it now).

There were nights of slower, unhurried passion (almost falling into lovemaking, mapping out bodies and reverent kisses and keeping one another’s gaze as they pressed hard and deep).

There were sneaky shows of affection (kisses in camera blind spots, gifts from faraway countries, new and handy gadgets, simple brushes of hands against hands).

There were real dates now and then, like normal people who didn’t blow things up for a living might do (suits and ties in a nice restaurant, indulgent trips to the cinema, sometimes even peaceful walks).

And there were nights, few and far between it seemed, like tonight. Nights with beer (Q had acquired it from a local brewery, Bond had called him a hipster, Q had asked if Bond even knew what a hipster was, and Bond had popped the cap off the first bottle and given it to Q) and a crap movie playing on the telly (1950’s B horror flick, at least it was classic crap) and Bond in casual sweats and Q in torn and stained jeans and comfortable old flannel (“Hipster,” Bond had teased; “Fuck off,” Q had replied) and no pretense.

There was nothing fancy about it in the slightest. There was hardly anything work-related. There was no rush. They drank beer straight from the bottle while curled on Q’s sofa amid tufts of cat hair. They made cutting and amused remarks about the movie or sat in comfortable silence. Tomorrow was a day off for Q and Bond was on leave between missions and for once in a long while, their time was their own.

Eventually, Q’s bottle emptied and he set it on the coffee table before listing sideways to lay his head in Bond’s lap. Bond wove his fingers into Q’s hair and rubbed gently, absently, at his scalp. Q smiled up at Bond and Bond looked down at Q with fond bemusement. “What?” Bond asked him.

“Nothing.” Q replied, looking back to the movie and relaxing further against Bond, “This is just nice.”


End file.
